


The flame that wouldn't burn out

by J_Antebellum



Category: Cormoran Strike Series - Robert Galbraith
Genre: Depression, F/M, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-22
Updated: 2018-08-22
Packaged: 2019-07-01 06:30:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,128
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15768513
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/J_Antebellum/pseuds/J_Antebellum
Summary: Strike collides face first with depression. When he starts feeling suicidal, there is only one person who can put some light into his darkness.





	The flame that wouldn't burn out

Depression is a dangerous illness. You never know when is coming until it's already there, and you can never be sure it's gone. And in a city as rainy and cloudy as London, it wasn't rare to feel depressive either. Try living with the knowledge that your father never wanted you, never cared for you, never loved you. That the one person who always choose you, was killed by the one she loved the most. Live with the memories of poverty, of being scared of other men, of dangerous people roaming around the squats threatening your security, of kissing your mum's cold, dead cheek goodbye. And then live with the memories of an abusive girlfriend, an abusive relationship, a failed engagement, your dead comrades and friends, the army, the head of a friend thrown on the ground without a body, his half leg gone.

In retrospective, Strike was surprised that even thought he had felt depressed very often in his life, he had never, genuinely, told himself "shit, this is bad". He had never gone into a full-blown depression and thus, he never realised why or when it happened, until it was far too late. All he knew was that, on the sixteenth anniversary of his mother's death, just a week before his own birthday, he was very far gone.

Robin had returned weeks prior from her honeymoon, and stumbled with the first few months of marriage. This had affected Strike more than he'd care to admit, not just because she was his close friend and business partner and he cared a great deal about her, but because it seemed to be Leda's story repeating all over again. Now that they had become closer friends than ever, the golden band in her finger acting as an invisible wall assuring them both that nothing but friendship would ever happen, Robin trusted him the most and vented to him, as she got drunk very often in a pub. She told him about Matthew asking about when she was going to earn more money, her worry about his fidelity and loyalty, his constant accusations about whether she was loyal and faithful, this and that. It made Strike wish to murder Matthew, but it also opened a Pandora box of well-shut-down memories he rather would've stayed closed forever, and every night he started having nightmares of the army, the explosion and, in the biggest amount, his childhood, the squats, the dirt, Leda and her boyfriends, Lucy's cries that threatened with ripping his eardrums apart.

Strike started sleeping less, eating more to try to fill a sudden emptiness inside, drinking more, smoking more. Robin noticed the change and worried, and noticed how his mind never seemed to be quite there, but he worsened in such amount at such a speed, she never realised how bad it was until he was already far gone.

To be fair, it wasn't all Robin's fault. Depression often lacks a direct cause, and so Strike found himself feeling bad about things that had never bothered, such as his aspect, his lack of a great wife or girlfriend, his lack of money, his lack of a great house... And the crisis of the 37. Suddenly he felt he had thrown his life away. He saw his best friends' happiness, announcing Ilsa's pregnancy, and he wondered how had he played his cards so wrong there was, in his mind, no one to cry if he died, to miss him, to wait for him home, to text him like his friends' partners did. No one to give a shit about him. He was complete and utterly alone and he had been so dumb to let Robin marry the tosser of Matthew instead of him. Coward.

"Fat tit, you aren't worth a penny, you knackered old twat," Strike told himself roughly as he rushed out of the shower stumbling with his prosthesis to get the phone. "Hello Ilsa." He said without any kind of emotion, flopping on the sofa with the phone gripped between his face and his shoulder, shirtless, and removing his prosthesis to put it again, this time properly.

"Corm! Everything alright? You sound... Tired." Genius you arsehole, now you're going to worry with your shit, as if she hadn't more important things to worry about. 

"I'm fine, I just can't seem to make the prosthesis work today," and now you go lying to your best friend, you deserve not to have any. "Did you need something?"

"Ah, well, your birthday is in just a couple days and Nick and I wanted to do something big for you, since it's the last one we can celebrate without a kid around," yes, because you're getting one and leaving me aside. Strike felt suddenly bitter. "Lucy's all in, but I know you're so busy at the agency, I thought giving you a surprise would be too much stress for you, so I just want to know when you're going to be available."

"I'm sorry Ilsa, I know you guys get very excited about these things," said Strike, not feeling sorry at all. "I just don't want to celebrate and I won't do it."

"Come on, Corm... I know her anniversary just passed but..."

"This has nothing to do with her," Strike cut her with a sharpness he regretted. He felt immediately sorry, but he didn't apologise. "Ilsa, I've already told Lucy. Last year it was a cool dinner, but we're very busy at the agency for the first time ever, and we will meet for Christmas anyway, and we just partied for Robin's birthday. I spend every minute working and whenever I get five minutes I just want to sleep, so really, please, no celebrations, no meals, parties, presents, cake, drinks... Nothing. I just want to keep my mind in the important things."

"But Corm," Ilsa sounded deflated and crestfallen and worried. "Not every day one turns 37! Come on, we should..."

"Next year it'll be 38. Birthdays literally happen every year, no big deal." He grumbled harshly. Ilsa sighed with exasperation.

"Why are you being so difficult now?"

"Why are you being such a pain in my arse?" Retorted Strike. He chastised himself internally right away.

"Have a good day Cormoran." The call ended and Strike sighed.

Strike got ready for the day and went downstairs to the office, where Robin greeted him cheerfully, offering him a mug of tea. She was way happier now that she was separated and ringless, and it made Strike smile.

"I've got good news for you. Ilsa just called, told me you were having a hard time to figure when to squeeze in birthday celebrations," Strike rolled eyes internally. "I looked at our schedule and turns out on Saturday we have it free."

"I'm tailing Jerkins on Saturday."

"It will only take you the morning."

"I'll spend the afternoon here at the office organising stuff, thinking of our cases, trying to advance..."

"There really is no reason for it," said Robin sympathetically, offering some biscuits, as if she was trying to buy him with food. "We've got everything handled and we need a break from time to time. You could really use it, you've been looking paler and thinner and more tired each day." She added with motherly concern. Strike sighed loudly.

"Robin, I hate birthdays, okay? Particularly my own. I would much rather spend Saturday working."

"What if I tell you it involves the Arsenal, beer, boats and..."

"Robin Venetia Ellacott," Robin shut up. He had never used her full name with such stern. "I swear if I can't do the fuck I want about my birthday because someone had some brilliant idea, it won't be pretty. You guys need to start respecting my decision of passing from my birthday."

Robin was left perplexed and Strike locked the inner office behind him and ignored her the rest of the day, not coming out, even for the bathroom or work. Robin had to slid notes under the door for him to ignore, tell their clients as they came that she would attend them instead of Strike, and grow furious with the man before the time came for her to go home. She was staying with Nick and Ilsa, so they had a long discussion about him at home and finally, the three decided their friend needed an intervention. Lucy, being the only person who frequently managed to force Strike into things, tagged around and in the evening, the four walked into the office, that was completely empty.

"I have keys of his flat." Robin announced, before guiding them up the stairs to the attic and knocking on the door before opening it.

Strike didn't hear them; he had been shaking and silently crying for hours in the inner office, feeling guilty and awful and a monster and so many other things, and when he got home he was so overwhelmed and desperate he had ran straight for the pistol he kept in the depths of her closet, under the false depth of a drawer. He had charged the gun and he now sat on the sofa, the pistol pressed against his temple, as he sobbed uncontrollably.

"Cormoran, no."

His eyes opened and saw Nick, Ilsa, Lucy and Robin, staring at him with horror, pale and petrified, too afraid to move. Lucy covered her mouth with her trembling hands as if she was afraid her voice would disturb him and make him pull the trigger.

"Cormoran," Robin looked at him gently, trying to remain everything her short time in psychology and her vivid curiosity on the topic and own experiences over the years had taught her. She smiled small, "sweetie, put the gun on the floor, okay? I'm sure we can work things out talking."

"What are you doing here?" Strike asked with a hoarse voice. "Who gave you permission...?"

"We came to apologise," assured Robin. "I knocked on the door, you mustn't have heard me. Came in worried you might've fallen or something."

"You've got to leave, now."

"We're not going anywhere," said Ilsa firmly. "So if you're going to do it, it will have to be in front of us." Strike let an angry sob out.

"Why do you have to make things so hard! Can't you fucking let me end this misery, why do you have to force me to live!"

"Cormoran, listen to me okay?" Said Robin softly, stepping towards the mountains of beer bottles, empty on the floor. "I've been there. I've been with a bunch of pills in my hand sitting inside a bathtub full of water. I know it feels like you're choosing this freely, like death is truly what you want," she added with tearful eyes. "But it's not. You're sick. Depression is an illness and it can take the best of us and honey I assure you whatever you're thinking, is not the truth. This isn't you and it isn't what you want. Is depression. Is monsters that have taken over your mind and are trying to force you to do what they want. Is like a tumour. It feeds of your thoughts nd feelings, in this case, and it grows larger in your mind until your body attacks itself, but this isn't you."

"I'm miserable. I just want to end this." Strike cried out, his hand trembling.

"I know," Robin knelt with her hands on his knees, locking eyes with him. "I promise you it will get better, and we're all going to help you, but this isn't the solution. You have to put that gun aside, empty it, let us take you to dinner and talk to us. I can get you help. We can go on a road trip, where your demons cannot find you, we can do anything, but we cannot give up on you. You will be healthy again and this tumour will be eradicated, I swear, and I swear you will be happy to be alive again, but you need to trust me."

"Why should I?" Sobbed Strike. "You're not the first person who has abandoned me when I was supposed to trust."

"Because I would die rather than let anything happen to you," Robin blurted out with a shaking voice. "Because I love you so, so much. And because if you die, I'll die too."

Strike gulped and they stared at each other for a moment before Strike lowered the gun took the bullets out, and put it all on the small table near the sofa. Then, he crumbled in crying, but as Robin hugged him tight and whispered positive things, he knew somehow, it was going to get better. Robin had ignited a flame in him that wouldn't burn out and that made his world a bit less dark.


End file.
